Greased Lightening
by ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo
Summary: "With a four-speed on the floor, they'll be waitin' at the door." Enjolras does his best to ignore his mechanic, and he fails. Miserably.


**GUYS IT'S MY FIRST NC-17 AHHH**

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**Based on this headcanon:  
He meets her at her car shop, a tattooed, nose-pierced, grease-stained mechanic in old gray overalls with a cocky smirk and a swagger in her step, who eyes his red sports car with more lust than he's ever seen directed at anyone, much less an inanimate object. He ignores his attraction to her and keeps it professional, but when he comes by a few days later to pick his car up, she gets into the car with him and has him try it out for her, instructing him to park in an abandoned lot and proceeding to climb on top of him and run those grease-stained hands all over his body.**

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Enjolras winces slightly. The loud sounds emanating from the dilapidated shop are too much for his head. He hasn't even had his coffee yet, considering that his car broke down five miles out of town and he's spent the early morning pushing it to here. Wherever 'here' is.  
The building is far dirtier than anything he thinks he's ever set his foot in. Despite his support for the poor he's never experienced it head-on, and he feels as though there is no time like the present to begin a change in the world.  
He finally manages to get the bright red car into the garage, where he's met with a curious gaze. At first he can't see anything but those big, brown eyes and tumbling chestnut hair, for the owner of such features is tucked under an old Chevrolet. She pushes herself out from under the car, and he feels his breath taken away.  
It seems almost impossible to him. This small, thin woman- no, girl- is beautiful to him for reasons that he can't fathom. Her skin is pale to the point of being sickly, and underneath the smeared layer of grease that stains her skin, he thinks he sees some freckles. She has a small, black knob that stabs through her right eyebrow, and she twists it as she stares at his car. She turns to get a better look at the sports car, completely ignoring her potential customer.  
As she moves, one of the straps on her old overalls falls down her shoulder, smearing it with grease and tangible car exhaust. The overalls, which have been cut off at the knee, reveal a winding tattoo around her ankle like a vine. If he were to get closer (which he tells himself he does not want to do), he would see that they are words. A poem on her feet.  
She finally turns to him and acknowledges him with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk that quirks her full lips in a way that is far too attractive. "So, what's happened to your little beauty here?"  
"Uh, I don't exactly know. It broke down about three miles away?" He says, awkwardly. She shoots him a look of utter contempt at his cluelessness.  
"If I had a car like this, I would make sure that she never even got dinged." She muses aloud, taking more steps towards his car. She leans as if to run caressing hands over it, and he almost says something about the paint job before she retracts her hand.  
"Well, can you fix it?" He asks, shattering her reverie. He tries to ignore the way she looks, bent over his car, with her hair spilling down her back and those overalls clinging too tightly to her ass.  
She snorts. "Give me two days." She whirls around. Seeing her directly, he notices how little her overalls cover. Dear God, he thinks, is she wearing anything under those? As his eyes try desperately to not look at her chest, the sewn patch by her right shoulder catches his eye. Éponine. She gets really close to him and puts her waxy lips close to his ear."And that's just so I can drive it around a bit."  
"Great," His breaths are even (but it takes a lot of effort) as he takes his wallet from his pocket. "How much?"  
She makes a nonsensical noise in the back of her throat and looks back to the car. Finally he places why her gaze is so off putting. She looks at his Ferrari in the way that his friends look at women.  
"I dunno. We can decide when you come back, yes?" She asks, smiling brightly. "Use the phone, call yourself a cab."  
In a whirlwind of smoke and oil, she is gone.

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He returns dressed more casually than last time. When they first met, he had been in an Armani suit that had been wrinkled and slightly wrecked from a particularly rough night. He's somewhat embraced the heat, dressing in jeans that he's rolled up to his knees and a short-sleeved button-up. He has sunglasses perched in his hair and he's wearing flip-flops.  
He catches sight of her working on another car in the back. She has on a mask and an over-large apron as she inspects the inner workings of what seems to be a fairly fucked up car.  
He shouts her name over the din of the shop, and she removes her mask. Just like two days prior, her face is dirty and her arms and fingers permanently stained with slick grease. As she takes off her apron, he thinks he can't possibly breathe in her vincity.  
If possible, she's wearing even less clothing than last time. Her top is anything but modest, an old blue button-up that had long since lost its buttons, and she has the ends of the shirt tied just under her breasts so that her entire stomach is exposed. Her jeans are of a normal length, but there are so many holes that she may as well have been wearing nothing.  
"So, pretty boy, you're back for Daddy's present?" She asks. Something in her words scorches him deeply. He has to compose himself before he can answer.  
"Actually, I bought it with my own money." His tone is icy, and he sees the swagger in her steps stop for just a moment before she continues to where his car is parked and covered with a large cloth.  
She rips off the fabric and he beams. His car looks better than ever before- the hood has been dusted, the window shield has been cleaned, and the paint-job looks fresh. He inspects the inside, and the black leather seats are polished.  
"Woah, this is amazing!" He compliments. She smirks.  
"I know. You don't even have to pay me. It was worth it just to work with this car." She says. He frowns at her but says nothing, knowing first-hand how annoying it can be when someone refuses a generous offer.  
Enjolras sits in the driver's seat and closes the door. He revs up the engine, relishing in the sweet purr that comes from his car. It's such an overwhelming noise that he almost doesn't hear Éponine over it.  
He realizes that she is saying something, but he can't hear her. Her message is clear when she hops into the passenger seat, smirking at him.  
"Take me for a ride, pretty boy." She orders. He tells himself that he listens to her because he owes her and not because the tie of her shirt is getting loose and he knows that the wind will tear it off her.  
And so they leave and drive away from the city. Soon it is nothing but her and him and the sky and the smell of car grease.  
"Oh! Over here!" She points excitedly in the direction of a country road. He shrugs and decides to oblige her. The road takes them to what used to be an old country store with an empty lot out front. He stops the car, confused.  
"Why ar-"  
He is cut off by her lips on his. She's sprawled across the front seat so that her forearms are supported by his broad shoulders and her hands are cupping his face. He kisses back with more ferocity than he knew that he had in him. Her hands trail away from his face, and even as her fingers leave he knows that he has streaks of black running down his face.  
His hands come to their senses and reach for her waist. However, due to her compromising position, he ends up finding her jeaned ass instead. He freezes, unsure of how to proceed and decides that the best thing is probably to remove his hands.  
When he does, though, she whines into his mouth and pushes her ass into the air so that it comes against his retreating palms. Taking the hint, his hands take their place again. Before he knows it, they are tumbling and falling over the backs of their seats and he falls on his back. She straddles him and those dirty fingers untie her top. She leaves the old fabric hung around her shoulders, but allows her breasts to receive the cool touch of the breeze.  
He grabs the back of her neck and forces her face back down to his. Éponine whimpers as his hips roll up so that his restrained erection brushes against her equally clothed center. He feels her thin fingers edging in the small space between their bodies. She painstakingly undoes each button on his shirt and gives up on the last few, ripping his favorite top.  
Enjolras can't find it in himself to complain. She eagerly pushes his shirt down his shoulders so that his chest is exposed more than hers is, and she runs her hands up his muscles. He groans as her thumbs find his nipples, for she is taking control and he is used to being a leader.  
Ignoring the slick feel of the grease on his skin, he wraps an arm around her and struggles to flip them over, but she is having none of it, keeping her legs firmly wrapped around him.  
"No," She tells him, pressing a feather-light kiss to his jaw. "No." She repeats. This time her hand finds the zipper on his jeans and with the third and final, "No", his erection springs free. She presses an almost-chaste kiss on his mouth before lowering those waxy lips to his cock.  
And he groans. Her mouth feels so good against him, and he has to struggle to not see stars as she runs her teeth gently over his head. One hand finds her hair and tangles in it, keeping a firm hold there as she continues going down on him. His other hand finds the back of the front seat and tightens around the leather headrest to the point where he thinks his fingernails have broken the fabric.  
Almost demandingly, Enjolras yanks on her hair so that her face jerks up to his level, her lips swollen and her cheeks oily. Éponine can't seem to stop him as he pushes her under him. He undoes her pants and pulls aside the cheap scrap of fabric that is her underwear. He slowly pushes himself into her, eliciting several beautiful mewls from her. Éponine squirms under him when he fills her completely.  
She is tight around him, her walls pulsating incessantly and as slick with juices as her fingers are with grease. And slowly, painstakingly, he moves inside her. She tries to make him move faster, but he holds her gyrating hips to the leather seat so that she is as still as he had to be earlier.  
"Revenge," He whispers, his voice hoarse.  
He pushes against that spot inside of her and she spasms around him, her dirty nails digging into the exposed skin of his shoulders. "Oh, God, Faster, please!" She begs between each thrust.  
He loves the sight of this dirty little woman begging him, but he knows that he won't last much longer if he doesn't get his release. So he pushes a little faster, thrusting into her with a steady pace. She flings back her head with a loud scream of ecstasy, exposing her throat to his biting mouth. Her shaking legs wrap around his ass, and he shoves into her with a new angle. His thrusts get faster and faster until he's pretty sure that he's going at the speed of his engine.  
Her eyes roll to the back of her head and her mouth hangs open. Expecting the inevitable, final scream, Enjolras pushes his mouth on top of hers so that the locals don't think that someone is being killed. She goes limp around him, but he is far from done. He slows so that she can prepare to accommodate him for longer. She does so lazily, letting one leg fall from around him to drape off the seat.  
She takes deep breaths, regaining her strength, while he feels about to spurt his load right there and then. Finally she rolls her hips upwards, signaling that she is ready.  
He starts off fast and brutal, no slow foreplay. She moans when one of his thumbs finds her clitoris and begins to roll it as he fucks her in the back seat of his car. His thrusts plunge deeper into her than either of them thought to be humanly possible. His vision starts to turn black around the edges, and he knows that he is more than close. She is very near to screaming again, but her teeth are biting her full bottom lip and her face is turning red trying to contain it.  
He puts his hand on her hard thigh and spreads her so that every single bit of her is accessible and he rocks into her one final time. He lets out an inhuman sound that harmonizes with her loud cry, and he comes with her leg still holding him inside of her.  
They stay like that for hours with her grease-stained fingers just tracing patterns on his back.

**I hope this is okay ….I feel really awkward because uhm first smut guys like wut i remember when i used to get flushed writing a kiss scene.**


End file.
